The Little Things Give You Away
by Lady Dudley
Summary: Slightly AU: a dark introspective on Jackie's relationship with...either Michael or Robbie, I'm not really sure. Medium angst warning.


**A/N: I was writing this for a different fandom but then thought it would fit here better (maybe?). It's a Jackie introspective about her relationship with...well, I'm trying to decide whether it's Michael or Robbie. Slightly AU and much darker than any previous examinations of relationships I've made. Basically Michael/Robbie has been distant lately and now has a girlfriend and appears to have dropped off the face of the earth (i.e. Jackie feels a little neglected).  
****Loosely based on a scene in _When Harry Met Sally_ where she tells him she's "not his consolation prize," a line from Shakespeare's _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ and the song "Satelite Heart" by Anya Marina. The tile comes from ****the Linkin Park song "The Little Things Give You Away."**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**_The Little Things Give You Away_**

Funnily enough it was the little things that she missed the most.

What hurt her more than him not being there was that even when he was...he wasn't.

She missed how they could 'talk' across a room, just with their eyes. She missed how he always _knew_: knew what she was feeling, how she was coping.

Now it was like he either had shut his eyes and didn't see or he did see and just...didn't care.

She wondered whether he had ever cared to begin with.

Everything he had told her in the past: that she was one of his closest friends; that he did care about her, that he would always be there for her. She wondered now whether it had all been bullshit.

She couldn't even decide what would hurt more: if he had been lying and she'd been drawn in or if he _hadn't_ been lying but had suddenly changed. Only it hadn't been a sudden change, it had been gradual.

At first.

Then She had entered the scene and everything seemed to have changed within a matter of days. He was no longer around when she needed him, now she didn't have to wait for him to answer her phone calls: he didn't answer them at all.

And he didn't touch her any more.

She was a tactile person and somehow this absence of touching hurt her more than anything else. She missed his comforting hand on her shoulder, their comfortable familiarity, his hugs goodbye. She hadn't realised how much those little gestures had meant to her until they were gone.

She had taken their physical closeness for granted and as a means of proving their emotional closeness, even though she'd never had the courage to initiate much of it herself. She had always been afraid that he'd reject it, reject her.

Now she almost wished she had, then she would know that it was something she had done that had caused this change. Then she could believe that it wasn't how it seemed.

That she was only good enough when there was no attractive, pert blonde on his arm; like some kind of consolation prize. Or like his dog; a constant, reliable part of his life that he could always turn to when he needed it, no matter how he had treated her.

Sometimes she wondered what would happen if he turned around and she wasn't there: whether he'd even notice and, if he did, whether he'd even care.

Not that she could ever bring herself to leave him.

She couldn't stand the thought of not having him in her life and she cared too much about him to leave him in the lurch if he really needed her.

Which she doubted, she wondered if he had ever really needed her or if that too had been a lie: if he had just turned to her because no one else was available.

Though, to be fair, she had voiced her concerns a little while ago: that he was pulling away from her, that he had never truly cared and he _had_ been at pains to assure her that she was wrong. That he did care and he wasn't consciously pulling away from her.

He had then made an effort to mend his ways...an effort that had lasted all of two weeks; which only reinforced her previous suspicions. Although this time it hurt more since he knew and still did nothing.

Just as she was about to be sucked down deeper into her pit of despair her phone beeped, letting her know she had new message. She read who the sender was with a grim smile before she opened the message:

_Hey, want to tell me what's going on? You seemed distant today. I'm worried about you. _

She wanted to write back 'sure you were' or scream at him that he had no _right_, no right to ask her questions like that when he had been ignoring her for weeks. How could she tell him something important when she wasn't even sure he was still truly there for her, had ever been there for her?

Instead she let herself believe the words, knowing it would end up hurting her more in the long run, she answered him; more truthfully than she may have in the past simply because she knew he probably wouldn't be around long enough for her to follow her instinct and be evasive.

~*~

Later that night she cursed her weakness in folding and telling him how she felt instead of telling him what she thought of him.

He didn't care and she had proof: she had told him she was upset and he _still_ didn't care enough to respond, to offer comfort as he would have in the past.

Despite his assurances to the contrary the little things gave him away.


End file.
